Nothing can compare with the beauty and warmth of life at home. Bred into bone, steeped into blood, is the everyday sweetness of living in Guyana with its river-light and forest green and soft air and garden quiet in the sun and rain. How good never to be cluttered by heavy clothes! How good to breathe the non-industrial wind off the sea! How good to see the stars of tropic picked out perfectly in the clear night! Never must we go too far or too long from home.
But I will say that the varying beauty of the changing seasons is a joy I have come to love when visiting vast and much-blessed Canada. The coming to green life of the land in Spring soon becomes abundant Summer and then the dying gold of Fall sinks before long into the starkest white and cold of Winter – with, still and again, the hidden promise of Spring to come. The turning wheel of life and the world transforms everything fresh and afresh.
I read a beautiful sonnet by the American poet W.S. Merwin about the seasons, about how quickly, as the first hay is reaped in the fields, a year turns from Spring to Fall.
Youth of Grass
Yesterday in the hushed white sunlight
down along the meadows by the river
through all the bright hours they cut the first hay
of this year to leave it tossed in long rows
leading into the twilight and long evening
while thunderheads grumbled from the horizon
and now the whole valley and the slopes around it
that look down to the sky in the river
are fragrant with hay as this night comes in
and the owl cries across the new spaces
to the mice suddenly missing their sky
and so the youth of this spring all at once is over
it has come upon us again taking us
once more by surprise just as we began
to believe that those fields would always be green
And now I have returned to complete this column from a visit to the McMichael Art Gallery, my mind filled with the beauty of the place. The Gallery holds some of the finest work of Tom Thomson, a Canadian who a century ago painted the forests and lakes of Ontario in all seasons.
I discovered this great painter a few years ago and in my mind his work has grown to seem some of the finest I have seen in all my life of gallery-going. But it was not only the work of a master in the gallery which enthralled my day but my wandering in the grounds in which the gallery is so marvelously set. An expanse of woods surrounds it. On this glorious Fall day I wandered down paths for miles in the trees leading to views of mountains in the distance and far-off cultivated fields interspersed with wilderness. The sun gleamed through the trees. I took out a book and settled myself on a bench bequeathed by a benefactor of the gallery and while I read I sampled a bag of red cherries I had bought on the way. Sweet, sweet even as fruit from home. Life is good, to be sure.
